


The Red Mountain Flower

by StarlitQueen



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alchemy, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, F/M, Imperials, NORDS - Freeform, Poisons, Potions, Riften, Skooma, Skyrim - Freeform, Slow Burn, Thief, Thieves Guild, unexpected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:26:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5262320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlitQueen/pseuds/StarlitQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talented and deadly alchemist, Freire, lives in the dark making skooma for Riften's seediest citizens. One day, while slinking through the Ratway, she comes across a charming thief...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering, Friere is not the Dragonborn so this story will not include that many Dragonborn related instances.   
> Please excuse any typos, I'm writing this at half past three lol

“You’ll back off if you know what’s good for you,” I snarled at the twitchy Argonian that had wandered too close to my work station yet again.

“Easy!” He snapped, his scaly skin glinting in the candlelight. “How much longer?” He was wringing his hands so rapidly it was a wonder they didn’t catch fire.

“At least an hour,” I snapped, turning away from the glowing tubes and bubbling cups before me. “Now don’t bother me again, or I’ll choke you with a deathbell.” I met his gaze with a fierce scowl. He stared at me for a while, assessing how serious I was (very serious) before huffing back to his corner on the other side of the room. “Filth.” I muttered under my breath. I knew he heard, but he wouldn’t dare speak out again.

I turned my attention back to what the Argonian had been twitchy about. Moon sugar. Iridescent moon sugar sat in a shallow pan in the back of my station. It was nearly in a liquid stage that could only be properly attained if it is set to a slow burn for two days. This batch was almost done. I had been given enough Moon Sugar to make at least ten vials of skooma. Sarthis could hardly ask for more, given the small size and poor quality of my work station. Besides, no one in all of Skyrim made skooma like I did. It had only been a month since I joined Sarthis’ skooma ring but they had quickly learned my value.

Checking the constancy of the moon sugar, I slowly stirred in a small amount of jazzbay extract. I reached up to the top shelf to grab the scraggly, twisted Canis Root. While the moon sugar mixed with the jazzbay extract, I sliced the smallest sliver of the Canis root and ground it into a fine powder. When I was finished, there was hardly enough powder to cover the nail of my little finger. But it was all I needed.

Canis Root caused paralysis. The amount I put into the skooma wasn’t even enough to effect a skeever. But when it mixed with a few drops of jazzbay extract, it gives the drinker a tingly feeling all over their body that most find very pleasant. Unfortunately, it made the addiction take hold even faster. But that’s what Sarthis liked, guaranteed business. That’s why he kept me around. That, and the fact that I could kill him one hundred times over with the plants in my collection.

I often wondered if that knowledge was why Sarthis didn’t question my mysteriously growing collection of ingredients. After all, I was not permitted to leave the warehouse. The best way to avoid being caught is to make sure no one knows you exist. Aside from the warehouse thugs and a small collection of dedicated clients, no one in all of Skyrim knew I existed. Well, except for the old woman who minded the alchemy shop, Hafjorg.

At least once a week, I snuck out through the basement of the warehouse. It led into the Ratway. It was the only way to get to the small shop underneath Riften without being seen. I hated the Ratway. Though I had never run into trouble, aside from a malnourished skeever every now and then, I knew there were others down there. I could hear their deranged mutterings and shrieks of despair. But they stayed deep within the vaults, thank the gods. I kept a small vial of liquid that would melt human skin at an alarming rate on my person at all times, just in case. A delicate mix of frostbite venom, vampire dust, and the blood of a diseased skeever. When mixed together, those ingredients turned so acidic that was too dangerous to even smell. It had to be kept in a vial of enchanted glass, it dissolved every other material.

It was always in the dead of night when I knocked on the door of Elgrim’s Elixirs and Hafjorg always answered. Though she was very kind, I think she knew better than to ask questions about where I came from and why I only came to the shop at night. She gave me a more than fair price on every ingredient, even the rarest once that must have cost her a fortune to obtain. Sarthis hardly paid me for my work and every bit of coin I earned went right into Hafjorg’s pocket.

In return for her kindness, I always brought her a special tonic that would, quite literally, warm her bones when the damp and cold became unbearable. It was another elixir of my own invention. I discovered that adding a very small pinch of fire salts to an ordinary bowl of bone meal created a delightfully warm powder. I then coated three Dragontongue petals in the powder and added the petals to a bottle of juice made from overripe snowberries. The warmth went right to the bones, calming aches and soothing stiff joins. Hafjorg was the only person who received the tonic.

Often, I thought that I could make more potions for Hafjorg to sell in her shop and in return I would get a cut of the profits. But Sarthis would know I had extra coin. His ability to sniff out gold was impressive. He made sure I had enough to live, but never had enough to escape. In a twisted sense, I preferred it that way. I could focus on my alchemy without being taunted by painful dreams of living somewhere else. It was much easier to think about the impossible than to think of the almost possible.

I was quickly snapped back to the work at hand by that Argonian addict shoving past me in a clumsy attempt to get to the still simmering skooma.

“Just one little taste, that’s all I want,” he snarled. I was not much of a fighter, barely had any muscle on me. But I was fast. Before the Argonian knew what was happening, I jabbed a hollowed out thorn filled with essence of the nightshade flower right between two dull emerald scales on his neck. His legs immediately bucked and he fell to the floor.

“Wha,” he gurgled before slipping into unconsciousness. Moments later I heard the stomping of boots signaling the approach of Sarthis and his orc bodyguard that never left his side.

“What the hell happened here?” He demanded.

“He dove for the skooma before it was ready,” I said with a shrug, turning my attention back to my work. “He would have ruined the batch if he disrupted it now.”

“He’s not dead is he?” Sarthis asked, nudging the unresponsive Argonian with his steel tipped boot.

“No, just knocked out,” I replied. “When he comes to, this batch will be finished. You can give him a little extra as compensation for the inconvenience.”

“Naw,” he said after a brief pause of consideration. “He’s always been too eager. This will teach him a lesson. Carry on.”

Both of us jumped when an unfamiliar chuckle came from behind us.

I spun around and my eyes landed on a man that had definitely not been in the room a few minutes ago. I couldn’t image how he had gotten in. Sarthis let’s precious few into the warehouse and they are always escorted in by himself personally. And yet here was a Nord, leaning against the far wall with his arms folded against his chest with a smirk on his face.

Sarthis’ expression darkened. “What are you doing here?”

“It seems there has been a little mistake in our fee,” the Nord said. His voice was unusual. It had a pleasing lilt to it that was unlike the way I had ever heard a Nord speak.

“You were given the agreed amount, Brynjolf, and you know it. Do not try to swindle me like a common merchant,” Sarthis said, his words full of venom.

“Ah, but I believe it is you who is swindling me,” the Nord, Brynjolf, replied. His voice was still light, but his sage colored eyes had taken on a darkness that could rival Sarthis’ withering glare. Brynjolf took a stack of papers from the inside of his coat and threw them on the floor in front of Sarthis. From where I sat, I could see clearly that the papers were the sales ledgers from last month. Sarthis was a meticulous bookkeeper.

Sarthis stared at the parchments, his face blanching. I stared at Brynjolf warily. Who must he be if he could make the ruthless Sarthis turn as white as a ghost?

“Now, as I’m sure you recall, the guild collects a percentage of your profits,” Brynjolf continued. “So can you please explain to me, since your profits have gone up drastically in your books, how our monthly fee was given to us with the total profit number so much lower?”

“How did you get those?” Sarthis stammered.

“Try to stay on point please,” Brynjolf replied shortly. “I suggest you pay up.” When he saw that Sarthis wasn’t going to budge, he continued his speech. “Dear old Maven doesn’t know about this little…slip up…yet. Pay up now and we can keep it that way.”

I had heard the name Maven tossed around quite a lot since I came here. Though I had never met her, or even seen her, I knew she was the most influential person in Riften. She had her hand in anything lucrative and simultaneously dominated the market and the seedy dealings of the underground. All I knew for sure was that she was not a woman to be crossed. She could have the entire skooma operation shut down with a single word.

Brynjolf’s threat worked. It very well could have been a bluff but I knew Sarthis would never take that chance, not on Maven’s wrath. He begrudgingly went to his safe in the basement and returned with a clinking bag of coins. He through the bag at Brynjolf’s feet.

“Get out of here before I let my temper get the best of me,” Sarthis snarled. Brynjolf scooped up the bag with a smirk.

“A pleasure doing business with you, as always,” he said. Sarthis stalked back down to the basement and I turned back to the skooma that was nearly ready for the touch of Canis Root. I could feel the Nord watching me as I carefully added the Canis powder.

“Interesting touch,” came his voice from behind me. I didn’t dare take my attention off the skooma. “What’s your name, lass?” He asked.

“Freire,” I was shocked when the words came from my mouth so freely. No one, not Hafjorg, not even Sarthis knew my real name. By the gods, that was foolish of me.

“Freire,” Brynjolf repeated. It was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. “Well, I hope to be seeing you again, lass.” I didn’t reply. But when I finally worked up the nerve to turn around, he had vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the unusual encounter with the mysterious Brinjolf, Freire's life in the warehouse goes on. With a new creation from the alchemy table, she sets off down the Ratway for her usual trip to Hafjorg's. But it very well may be that her new creation could be her undoing down in the tunnels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FREIRE pronounced Frey-er in case there was any confusion in regards to that.   
> I tried to hint that Freire has a dark past, I hope that came across clearly. It will be revealed at some point, though I'm not going to tell you when so you'll just have to keep reading :D   
> All of the potions I write about are researched, so if the skyrim game had more possibilities for alchemy then the potions I come up with could work (in theory lol)

Sarthis must have started paying that Nord, Brynjolf, the correct amount. Three months had come and gone without a sign of him. I still couldn’t believe I had told him my true name. I had been paranoid at first. I was waiting for Riften’s guards to burst through the door and drag me to the prison under the keep. It was an unreasonable fear. Even if Brynjolf had said something to a guard, though his ties to the skooma ring lead me to think there was no love between himself and authority figures, there was no way any of the guards here could condemn me for anything other than mixing moon sugar. There was no way they could know of my past. It was just not possible. 

And least that’s what I told myself a thousand times and I laid on my bedroll in the blackness of the warehouse at night. Every creak in the old wood was an intruder coming to take me away, every sigh from another warehouse worker in the night was my past hunting me down, every shadow concealed a monster. It was these sleepless nights that prompted me to create a new potion. I had found a way to bottle light and keep the deadly shadows of my imagination at bay. 

It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. As long as they were alive, glowing mushrooms shone so bright they could replace lamps entirely. The pods of the gleamblossom also emitted a pale blue light. The real challenge was making the light last through the night. But it was a challenge I was grateful to face. I loved manipulating nature’s natural gifts into something that could be used. With a few leaves I could create an elixir powerful enough to save a life. 

Or end one. 

But I was also grateful for the excuse to leave the candles burning just a little bit longer, to not have to face the darkness where my mind would be free to wander to poisoned memories or ‘what-if’s that drove me to near madness.  
After days of research, I finally discovered that the restoration properties of the Elves Ear planet didn’t just affect humans, but also plants. After crushing and grinding the glowing mushroom and the gleamblossom pods into a moist substance that was slightly coarser than powder, I then added the essence of the Elves Ear leaf. Unfortunately, it took twenty leaves to make enough liquid essence to make the glow last through the night. Within two nights I had significantly diminished my supply of Elves Ear. 

The next night, I prepared to sneak out of the warehouse and through the dreadful Ratway to get to Elgrim’s. Elves Ear was a common plant. Sometimes I found it in the Ratway. But Hafjorg was sure to have a good supply. She rarely used it. She would also have the ingredients I needed for the next batch of skooma. The moon sugar I needed would be arriving tomorrow and it was best that I started on it as soon as possible. Ever since Brynjolf appeared in the warehouse, Sarthis had become much more irritable and a little bit jumpy. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t like that someone could get into the warehouse without us knowing, no matter how pleasing his voice was. 

Due to Brynjolf mysterious appearance, Sarthis ordered his thugs to sleep by every possible entrance to the warehouse including the hatch in the basement floor that lead to the Ratway. I knew the guards were too afraid to sleep directly on the hatch, the wood was old and perpetually damp from being so close to the river. There was a good chance a guard sleeping atop the hatch could fall right through to the Ratway in the middle of the night. 

Most of the thugs were heavy sleepers. All of them used my skooma. Once it wore off, it tended to exhaust the drinker. But I still didn’t take any chances. Sprinkling the powder of a purple mountain flower and frost Miriam mixed together with the feather of a hawk ensured that I would move in silence at least until I reached the bottom of the ladder into the Ratway. This mixture was one of the few I still didn’t completely understand. It was a recipe I learned from Hafjorg. She didn’t understand why it worked either, she had learned the recipe from some unnamed thief. It helped me remember that magic was a force in the world that could affect anything, and it was not something that was ever meant to be completely understood. And I could live with that. 

With the powdery mix covering my worn cloth boots, I moved slowly and silently down to the basement. There was a bulky orc sleeping on the ground near the hatch. His snores were enough indication that he would not easily wake. Good, I thought, one less thing to worry about. When I reached the hatch, I sprinkled a little bit of the powder onto its hinges. I didn’t know if it would work but it was worth a shot. The hinges were rusty, and though the orc was snoring loud enough to startle a giant, I didn’t want to risk and extra noise. 

As I lifted the hatch, the hinges rotated without protest. I did not know if it was my powder or just plain luck but I didn’t stop to ponder the matter. After carefully closing the hatch I swiftly descended the ladder. The slimy fungus that grew throughout the Ratway squelched under my feet. The air was thick with the smell of river water, rot, and decay. I hated it down here.

I debated on whether or not to use my bottled light. It was as black as pitch in the Ratway at night. I usually navigated by touch, sliding my hand over the cold, slimy walls and moving by memory. I had yet to come across anything alive in the tunnels, except for a few skeever. I usually heard the scrape of their claws on the stone floor long before they smelled me. Tossing a small rock down the corridor usually sent them off, but on more than one occasion a well-aimed toss of a dagger eliminated them as well. A chuck of skeever tail had the potential to be quite useful. 

After some debate, I decided there was no real harm in using the bottled light. I would be able to get through this awful place a lot faster if I could see where I was going. I retrieved it from my leather pouch and wrapped my fingers around it to dull its brightness. I only needed enough to see a few feet ahead of me. To my horror, I saw that the ground was littered with bones. Some of them even had bits of flesh still attached to them. Perhaps the light wasn’t the best idea. 

Over and over again I told myself I would be out soon. As I hurried along the twisting maze of corridors, I could feel my chest grow tighter. I kept imagining the scuffling of foot falls behind me, a Ratway predator drawn to the light in my hands.  
Another twist, another turn. Where the hell was the way out? I should have come to the door that lead to the lower docks by now. Up until now I had been walking at a brisk, but still quiet pace. Though I didn’t want to, I slowed my steps and looks around trying to orient myself. The imaginary scrapes and footfalls mocked my mind. 

I slid my hand against the wall. I cringed at the foulness of it. It was even worse now that I could see what I was touching. The grooves and ridges of the stone wall did not feel familiar to my fingertips. Perhaps, in my hurry, I had overshot the turn that lead to the way out. It was probably best to go back, I reasoned. If I didn’t find the bend that would take me to the lower docks then at least I could go back to the warehouse, darkness be damned. 

I turned around and moved in the direction from whence I am. The realization that I had almost became lost in the Ratway sent a spike of hot fear through my body. Fueled by my own anxiousness mind began imagining footfalls and rustles. They seemed to echo in my head more loudly than they had before. 

It was then that I realized the imaginary footfalls I heard in my head had not been imaginary, but very, very real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgot to put this on my first chapter, but I do not own skyrim or any of it's characters aside from Freire who is of my own creation.


End file.
